[TBS][oneshot] Breathe (iv-vi)
Jan. 16th, 2010 12:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
inkpawprintsTITLE: Breathe
SERIES: post-Tokyo Babylon
CHARACTERS: Subaru, Hokuto, Seishirou, original characters
RATING: R for adult themes, sexual content
SUMMARY: Subaru wears a dress. It's not funny.
NOTES: There are three songs that appear as quoted lyrics throughout the lounge scene (part v). I strongly recommend putting them on in the background when reading that particular scene for atmosphere and mood, and also to vindicate the fact that I listened to them over and over and over again trying to plan the scene around them. The songs are:
(1) 'Take My Breath Away' (Berlin)
(2) 'Sleep' (Conjure One)
(3) 'I Want You' (Madonna and Massive Attack).
Posted in two parts because LJ posts have a word limit and I am incapable of writing short short stories. Parts i-iii are here.
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iv.
1994年 1月 14 日
月曜日5:50PM
The shop is dark when he returns. He didn't want to, but a promise is a promise and Subaru is too honourable to even think about breaking one. Still, however, he hopes that maybe he kept her waiting too long, that she's given up on him and when after no one answers his hesitant knock he can slink home to hide and pretend that the world around him isn't moving on. Of course, it doesn't work.
"I said I'd leave the door open," is the first thing Chizuru says. She's dressed in black tonight, simple and practical, and gives him the ghost of a smile. "Come on in."
She closes and locks the door behind him – no getting out of this now. Apprehensively Subaru follows Chizuru through the darkened shop to the back entrance glowing warmly from a light in the room beyond. The room turns out to be a stockroom, but one with a flight of stairs in it, and Subaru follows Chizuru up these into the small apartment that sits above. Small kitchen, smaller bathroom, a tiny raised space with tatami matting in one corner, and a slightly larger living area that seems to be mostly sewing room. "Would you like anything to drink?" Chizuru asks.
"No, thank you." He stands in the genkan uncomfortable and out of place. What is he doing here?
"Don't mind me then." Chizuru has gotten out a beer for herself and takes a gulp. Lowers the can when she sees that Subaru is still in the genkan. "Oh come in, I'm not going to bite. Sit there."
She points at the raised corner space with tatami matting. At night it would have a futon for sleeping but right now there's only a cushion and a round mirror on a portable stand. Subaru's stomach clenches, but he slides his shoes off anyway. "Ojamashimasu," he murmurs, picking his way carefully across the floor – it's a neat apartment, but there's a lot in it. He passes the burgundy dress on the way, hanging from a hook in the wall on a clothes hanger – it looks no different to before, at least to his eyes – before gingerly kneeling down in seiza on the cushion. There's a photo sitting on a wall shelf to his side; there's a younger Chizuru with a man and little boy smiling out at him from the frame.
Chizuru puts down the rest of her beer and picks up a white cloth and a large silvery metal box. "So did you go to any ceremonies this morning?" she asks as she comes over. Subaru makes a negative sound; he feels almost fatalistic. "In that case, let me be the first to congratulate you for Seijin no Hi." She kneels down in front of him on the tatami with the white cloth over her shoulder. Subaru tries not to flinch as she looks with unsettling directness into his face. "I said I'd show you your sister," she says softly, "and I can see from your face that you already have an idea of what I'm getting at. Are you all right with this?"
His face heats, there are moths in his stomach, but his morbid curiosity outweighs all. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes."
A sad smile crosses Chizuru's face. "Take off your top," she instructs.
It's impossible to try preventing the flush of embarrassment that comes over him, but he moves to do as he's told. Parka first, which Chizuru bundles to one side, then his woollen turtleneck is discarded leaving him clad in faded black jeans and a white long-sleeved t-shirt. Chizuru drapes the cloth about his shoulders before using a plastic headband to push his hair out of his face. Already Subaru feels faintly ridiculous, but he forces himself to keep calm. "Good," says Chizuru, sitting back on her heels, "now close your eyes."
She opens the metal box revealing an intimidating array of paints, powders, brushes, sponges and more, and Subaru feels a not entirely pleasant thread of anticipation curling in his gut. Still, however, he does not resist as Chizuru gently takes hold of his chin, and closes his eyes as she wipes a dampened tissue over his face. "Why are you doing this for me," he asks quietly.
"Because I want to." The tissue stops, disappearing to let Chizuru's fingers rub a light cream into his skin. "Because you're letting me. Because I know what it's like to grow old wondering what someone you've loved and lost would have looked like had they lived.
"I had a son, his name was Shinya. His father and I were so happy when he was born and we thought he could achieve anything. We watched him grow imagining how we would attend his school festivals, his graduations, even his wedding, how proud we would be on each of those days. Open your eyes and look up." Pencil-tip around his eyes; Subaru tries not to flinch. "Shinya was such a handsome boy, I loved making clothes for him and made sure he was the best dressed child each Shichi-Go-San. Which was fine when he was little, but then again, that might have been when the trouble started. Close your eyes." Subaru does so obediently, keeping still as something is brushed over his eyelids. "When Shinya was in school he was in the upper ranks of students in his class. His father thought he could do better, I thought he was doing well enough, but what became more of a worry was the fact that although he had plenty of girl friends he showed no interest in any of them. What's more, he was friends with girls because he could talk like and with them about girlish things: clothes, make-up, fashion, things like that. Boys. My handsome Shinya talked about boys like he was a girl.
"I was disappointed in him, I can admit that. Still, he was still my son and I loved him. His father was the one who took it badly. He would yell and scream every time he found Shinya with new clothes or with make-up, and it got worse every year as Shinya grew older and showed no signs of changing. Once he found lipstick in Shinya's bag and somewhere in the shouting that ensued he backhanded Shinya across the face. He told Shinya the only red a man could honourably have on his face was blood. Don't breathe for a moment." Subaru holds his breath and tries to relax as a soft brush dusts his face. "Shinya ran away that night.
"I blamed his father, and he blamed me of course. Said it was my fault Shinya turned out that way because I treated him like a doll when he was little. I retorted that if that was the case then Shinya's father obviously wasn't enough of a man to make up for me. I was the one hit that day. You can breathe now, by the way.
"Shinya came back a few days later. He had been staying with a girl friend but had to leave because of the trouble he was causing, and although he worked part-time jobs he didn't have the money to live on his own. So he came back. I convinced his father to be civil and tolerant, or at least try to be, and begged Shinya not to provoke him. Open your mouth." Subaru does so, smelling strawberries as something thick and sticky glides over his lips. "The peace, if you could call it that, was intermittent at best. Shinya had grown his hair long and while he no longer wore make-up at home he would put it on outside, and barely a month would go by without some terrible fight. Later I found dresses in Shinya's cupboards. Of course, I didn't tell his father. Keep your eyes closed, I'm going to do your hair now.
"Shinya's Seijin no Hi would have been six years ago. He told us quite bluntly beforehand that he wanted to wear a furisode and he had saved up his own money to buy one, complete with obi and everything. After all this time I was prepared to let him do what he wanted but his father of course was having none of it. Said he'd rather see his son dead than standing up there in front of everyone we knew dressed in women's clothes bringing shame upon us. He probably didn't mean it, but he got what he wanted. The next morning we found Shinya hanging from the ceiling of his room dressed in the furisode. He had done his hair and make-up perfectly.
"His father was left a broken man. He and I divorced some months later, and I think he moved back to his home town. I stayed in Tokyo and opened up this shop in my son's memory. The men's and women's clothes I make and sell downstairs? I make them all with Shinya in mind, and wonder what he would look like wearing them. I'll never know, of course, but seeing other people look good in my clothes, that helps a little. Just a little.
"Your hair is done. You can look in the mirror now."
Slowly, almost frightened, Subaru opens his eyes. He blinks for a moment as his vision refocuses, wondering at how weightless his eyes feel, before finally focusing on the surface in front of him. His breath stops.
Hokuto is staring out of the mirror.
It's a startling transformation. Subaru swallows nervously, unsettled by the way Hokuto does as well, trying to tell himself that this is him, this is his face only covered with powder and paint. Eyes, first, that's what he looks at, noting how they've been thinly lined with black and the upper eyelids smudged light rose. The corner of each eye is dotted with a daub of shimmering palest gold that brings out the emerald green of his irises. The shadows under his eyes are gone, there's even a hint of blush on his pale cheeks. Finally there are his lips, and if ever he feared that they would be coloured as brightly as was Hokuto's preference he can feel relieved, for all Chizuru has done is applied a sheen of gloss with nothing but the barest hint of colour. All of this is set off by ebony black hair that although short, has been brushed and sprayed so that it whimsically frames his face much like it used to do when he was sixteen. The only adornment is a small kanzashi that has been pinned into the hair on the left side of his head, dark red and accented by white pearlescent beads. Hokuto would have loved it.
Still, however, for all that is now Hokuto's face, there's something not quite right. In the mirror, Hokuto is not smiling.
Chizuru leans over his shoulder and looks into the mirror beside him; although the emotion in her face is fragile she manages to smile with a fairy godmother's pride. "You have a lovely face, Subaru-kun, I really didn't have to do much other than bring out your eyes. Your sister must have been a beautiful girl."
Somehow Subaru finds his tongue. "She was," he says hoarsely, only to catch himself as in the mirror Hokuto's lips move with his— "I mean, she is."
Chizuru's smile widens, there are tears in her eyes. They seem to embarrass her, for she ducks her head out of the mirror and quickly wipes them away. When she looks up again, she is back to being her old self. "Well then!" she says with forced levity, "now that hair and make-up is done, shall we see how everything looks with the dress? It belongs to you, after all. I'll go get it, okay?"
Mechanically Subaru nods, happy to let Chizuru do as she feels right and keeping his eyes on Hokuto's face in the mirror. Hokuto still isn't smiling, Subaru notes achingly, and what's more in the frame of the mirror it's almost like she's trapped. Cooped up, or caged, even, like a pretty princess in a fairy tale.
Hokuto hated feeling confined in any context. Unlike Subaru she was a people person, an extrovert who shone best in social situations and who drew her energy from the presence of others. Keeping her cut off from the world in any way is not only unkind, it's heartless.
Hokuto needs to be seen.
v.
1994年 1月 14 日
月曜日8:55PM
The Grand Hyatt Tokyo in Roppongi Hills. Although a Monday night it doesn't matter to tourists or travelling businessmen, and while not busy there are enough guests in the hotel's intimate lounge and bar to keep staff occupied. Lit by candlelight they sit scattered about the room around low tables and in shadowed alcoves, flickering silhouettes against the wood panelling and dark gold drapes. There's a live band on a stage – keyboard, percussion, bass, a couple of strings with a female singer in slinky black – playing chilled relaxing music that softens faces and brings down guards. As the singer sings whispers of conversation float by in the low light interrupted now and then by laughter; there are relationships being deepened over wine and drinks.
Hokuto sits at the bar alone.
To any voyeur – and there are several in this lounge – Hokuto is an attractive picture. Slim to almost the point of androgyny she wears a fitting, high-necked, burgundy dress trimmed with black that contrasts with the fairness of her bare arms and skin. Low black peep-toe heels set off slender legs exposed to the thigh by the dress's slit. She has short ebony hair decorated with a silken dark red flower and strikingly vivid emerald eyes. These eyes avoid any contact and are kept shyly or nervously lowered on a half-empty glass of lemonade; their owner seems somewhat detached, even, perhaps, a little unreal.
One voyeur, tall and blond and intrigued, decides to approach.
"Good evening." Startled, Hokuto glances up. The blond stranger smiles and leans against the bar. "Looking a little down and lost there – you waiting for someone?"
It takes a few seconds for Hokuto to reply. "…No," she says slowly, voice soft and low, "I'm not waiting for anyone."
"You mean you're here by yourself? Wow." The stranger shakes his head, still smiling. "Have to say that takes some courage, going out to a bar like this alone, I mean. Especially for a girl. Usually the only people you see by themselves at places like this are guys like me on business trips. I'm John, by the way, and you are?"
He extends a hand, large and open, one eyebrow inquiringly lifted. Hokuto stares confusedly for a moment before hesitantly reaching out to shake it with the tips of her fingers. "Hokuto," she says, lowering her head as she pulls back; her fingernails, one would notice, although not particularly long are manicured and painted with a clear polish.
John acknowledges the customary bow with an exaggerated one of his own. "Nice to meet you, Hokuto-chan – I can say that, right?" Hokuto doesn't respond either way and John takes this as tacit approval, though he does give a rueful chuckle. "I've been learning Japanese for nearly eight years and yet I still sometimes slip up on the honorific language stuff, what's appropriate for who and when, but since the company keeps sending me over here for work I must be doing something right. Mostly." He flashes Hokuto a grin. "I tend to trip up around pretty girls."
The compliment makes Hokuto's fair cheeks flush pale pink. John's grin widens; he can't be any older than twenty-eight, and he has an easy confidence that sits well on his square-jawed face. "Can I buy you a drink?"
Too polite to say no Hokuto nods slightly and nervously attempts at a smile. John beams and victoriously waves the barman over. "A Long Island Green Tea for the girl and a Johnnie Walker on the rocks for me, please," he says, "and you can put it on my room tab. You have to try this drink, Hokuto-chan, it's named after my home part of the States but this version uses sake steeped in green tea so a bit of an eastern twist on the traditional mix. You ever been to the United States, Hokuto-chan?"
Hokuto hasn't been anywhere, but at one stage she dreamed of doing so. She can't dream any more, obviously. "No, I haven't."
"You should definitely try to get yourself over there sometime, and if you do and find yourself in New York you can be sure I will show you all the best places to go. Ah, here we are." A low square glass with ice and golden liquid appears on the bar in front of them, followed a few moments later by a highball glass filled with something pale yellow and decorated with a brandied cherry. John pushes the drink towards Hokuto who takes it with no small amount of trepidation. "Okay, then. Kanpai!"
John clinks his glass against Hokuto's and then the two of them drink, or at least John does. Hokuto lets only a cautious mouthful pass her lips. Onstage, the singer has begun another song.
"How do you like it?"
The drink is refreshingly sour with a hint of sweetness. Pleasant. "It's – good," Hokuto replies, surprising herself perhaps with the sentiment. "I'm … enjoying it." For the first time she lifts her eyes to meet John's. "Thank you."
"You're very welcome. And no, don't even think about paying me back, it was my pleasure. After all, how else is a guy like me supposed to keep a conversation going with a pretty girl?"
Hokuto blushes. "Ah, by talking?" she ventures hesitantly.
The laugh that bursts from John's mouth is bright and startled. "Talking? Oh, Hokuto-chan," he manages to say, and then he is laughing again, warm and full and genuinely amused. Infectious, actually, and strange as it feels Hokuto can't help but shyly smile a little. She self-consciously hides it behind another sip of her drink, though.
"So, Hokuto-chan," John continues when (with the whiskey's assistance) he's finally gotten hold of himself, "tell me, what are you, a university student? Model? No, wait, let me guess, a professional breaker of hearts—"
"She's a ghost."
Freeze, shatter. In a split second 'Hokuto' is gone leaving only Subaru, Subaru, white and vulnerable wearing a woman's dress and holding a stranger's drink in his left hand. He knows that voice, knows the speaker who is standing behind him, and knows also that what was supposed to be a little adventure has now become a nightmare. "Of course, ghosts are still capable of breaking hearts," continues Seishirou, coming out around from behind Subaru's back with a smile, "but here in Japan the ghosts that do that are usually ones that need to be exorcised or destroyed, isn't that right," Seishirou stops to stand unsubtly between Subaru and John at Subaru's shoulder. "…Hokuto-chan."
He shouldn't look at him, really he shouldn't, but Subaru can't help himself, and his gut tightens immediately. Seishirou looks breathtaking in black, black hair, black suit, black tie, all of it in stark contrast to his white shirt and silver cufflinks. He's taller than John, or at least the same height, and for all that he has one white eye and one amber-gold the mismatch does nothing to lessen the intensity of his gaze, particularly since it is no longer hidden by glasses. Immediately Subaru ducks his head, clenching his free hand on his lap so hard manicured fingernails cut painfully into his palms. "Why are you here," he whispers.
"I'm on a work trip," Seishirou says simply. "A late evening appointment with the lady there—" here he points across the lounge at a woman in a fitted blue office-dress talking to a group of men in suits, "—that I will have to eventually attend to."
John is not blind; he can tell there is something going on and it is painfully obvious that 'Hokuto' is deeply unsettled by the man's arrival. "That so? Then why don't you go attend to her?" he asks Seishirou coolly.
"Oh, I can delay it, she won't care. Besides, Hokuto-chan's company is so much more engaging, and she doesn't mind me being here." Significantly Seishirou glances down at what 'Hokuto' is wearing. "You have a beautiful dress, by the way."
Subaru wants to die.
Seishirou's smile darkens as he turns to John. "Hokuto-chan always did have an eye for clothes," he explains, voice mercilessly conversational. "She intended to study fashion design after high school but in the meantime she would make up outfits at home and use her brother as a model. He was a very good model, pretty as a doll and just as obedient, wouldn't you agree, Hokuto-chan?"
He's having trouble breathing in the dress; he feels faint. John to his credit is not easily moved and is regarding Seishirou with wary eyes. "Look, Mister, I don't know who you are and quite frankly don't care to know, but I think Hokuto-chan actually does mind you being here so why don't you leave us alone and mind your own business, okay?"
"Ah, but you see, this person here is my business." As if to emphasise his point Seishirou puts a hand on Subaru's shoulder, seemingly casually but Subaru feels the weight of it like iron. "Besides which, I need to offer my congratulations." He reaches down with his other hand to take Subaru's clenched right fist. Lifts it up before his lips to kiss the back of it paying absolutely no attention to their startled one-man audience; it makes Subaru shiver, and not just from the way the star-marks burn. "Seijin no hi omedetou, my dear," Seishirou murmurs.
Any other time, any other situation, Subaru would be fighting back. This, however, is the here and now and for all the rage that Subaru feels (along with hate and love, always hate and love together) it is nothing compared to the utter humiliation of being caught in a woman's dress and make-up. Worse still is the way Seishirou is so perfectly and cruelly playing along. "You bastard," he whispers helplessly.
"Such language, Hokuto-chan," Seishirou chides. "What would your grandmother say if she heard you? For that matter, does she even know you're here?"
"Okay, that’s it." John puts down his drink on the bar with a loud clack. "You, ex-boyfriend or whatever, time for you to go, either by yourself or escorted by security."
Challengingly John takes a step towards Seishirou; Subaru's eyes widen in horror. "Don't—"
"I advise very strongly against you trying anything," says Seishirou quietly. His hand is still holding Subaru's. "In the first place I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere, and in the second—"
"Actually, you know what, fuck security; I'll escort you out myself for the sheer pleasure of teaching abusive bastards like you that—"
"In the second place," Seishirou repeats, still quietly, "it is a warning for your own good."
The words stop John in his tracks. He stares at Seishirou with narrowed eyes. "Are you threatening me?" he asks in disbelief.
"I am, yes."
A touch of uncertainty creeps into John's face, more, perhaps, from the calmness of Seishirou's reply than the actual substance. Still, however, he seems unwilling to back down and darts a look at 'Hokuto' who rigidly avoids his eyes while making no attempt to break out of Seishirou's grip. Onstage, the singer is dragging out the ending note of her song while the band segues into the chords to another. Seishirou's smile lights up with an idea. "Come," he says, pulling gently on Subaru's hand, "let me take you for a dance."
Even knowing Seishirou as he does Subaru is still taken aback at the request. "W-what?"
"A dance. Right here and now."
John sneers. "Are you stupid? This is a lounge, not a club, and what's more not only is there no dance floor this isn't a dancing song."
Seishirou ignores him and keeps his eyes on Subaru who keeps his eyes on the floor. "One dance, Hokuto-chan, and then I promise I'll let you go tonight." Suddenly he lowers his head to whisper in Subaru's ear. "Dance with me, or your would-be knight in paper armour doesn't live to see tomorrow."
It's all Subaru can do not to punch Seishirou in the face.
Seishirou waits out Subaru's silent outrage with a hunter's patience. Subaru's lips thin. Then, like a prisoner to an execution, he puts his drink on the bar and allows Seishirou to pull him off the barstool over to the small patch of clear floor in the corner beside the stage. They attract little attention other than a surprised smile from the singer, and soon enough Subaru is standing stiffly, head bowed refusing to meet Seishirou's eyes, with one hand flat against Seishirou's shoulder and left hand in Seishirou's right. Seishirou's own left arm is wrapped around Subaru's waist. With the heels Subaru comes up to just above Seishirou's chin; for a moment he can see John watching them from the bar but then the singer's voice is growing low and husky and Seishirou is leading him in a turn. Slowly they begin to move together, small steps only side to side, nothing complicated, Subaru can't dance to save his life wearing his own clothes let alone in a dress and Seishirou knows it. But he still makes him try.
"You surprise me, Subaru-kun," Seishirou murmurs after a while, body warm and solid against Subaru's. "Even with Hokuto-chan's influence I never would have imagined you to do anything like this – did you get dressed by yourself? Even with a padded bra?"
Subaru's hand tangles into the cloth of Seishirou's jacket, the only evidence of the scream he's clamping down on; constantly put off balance as he is there's little else he can do especially in public. "That's none of your business," he bites out.
"Well, whoever helped you, they did a masterful job. You look absolutely beautiful." Without warning Seishirou spins them, too quickly for Subaru to make a misstep. "Also like Hokuto-chan, which, I presume, is the whole point. But you know, Subaru-kun, if you're going to put so much effort into being your sister for one night, you could have done better."
The words shouldn't hurt but they do. After all, Seishirou is the only other person here who has any memory of Hokuto. "What do you mean," Subaru asks, stung and breathless. He keeps his eyes lowered; his heart is racing.
"Your sister was an independent, confident girl who would look people directly in the eye and never flinch. She had pride and self-respect right up to the end, and would have become a strong woman had I not killed her. You, on the other hand, are simply pathetic. Getting picked up in a bar by a sweet-talking foreigner? Hokuto-chan would at least have made him work for the privilege of buying her a drink. No, Subaru-kun, for all that you look like a grown-up Hokuto-chan your Hokuto-chan is exactly the kind of passive and weak woman your sister looked down on and would have hated to be. In other words, it's just you in a pretty dress." Unpleasantly Seishirou's lips curl into a smirk. "Maybe you should wear dresses more often; you certainly suit them well."
Violently Subaru shoves Seishirou away – it's too much, he can't take this anymore – awkwardly stumbling backwards in his heels. For a moment he stands humiliated, half bent over and shaking, until a horrible realisation strikes: although he can still hear the music there is no one looking over at their struggle, not the singer on the stage, not John, not a single curious guest, no one. It's as if the two of them are invisible, and even as Subaru stares around at the dimly lit room each oblivious figure begins to disappear, fading like smoke until finally Subaru is staring at a room of empty chairs and abandoned drinks.
The two of them are alone.
Eyes wild, Subaru whips around to Seishirou. The man simply looks at him not needing to say a word to underline how his power has pulled them out of the real world into one of their own. Only the music, dark and disembodied, is allowed to penetrate the illusion. Seishirou always had a flair for the dramatic.
There are empty and half-drunk glasses on the nearest tables. Desperately Subaru grabs one and flings it at Seishirou, breath sobbing in his throat, then grabs a second and throws that without even bothering to see if the first one hit. A third and fourth follow in quick succession untargeted and driven increasingly by grief because Subaru knows, he knows he can't ever have or bring Hokuto back that wasn't the point of dressing like this, he just wanted to do something in her memory … another glass and another, he's lost track of how many not that it matters because he can't see, he's shaking with tears – blindly he reaches out again only to be stopped short as a hand grabs his wrist. Immediately he brings up his other hand for a punch but that too, is caught and held, and then Subaru is sinking to his knees crying uncontrollably barely aware of how Seishirou kneels as well to hold him— "Shh, Subaru-kun, that's enough, that's enough now—"
—he lunges up to wrap his hands around Seishirou's throat.
The back of Seishirou's head slams against the floor. All at once Subaru is straddling him, burgundy skirt riding up about his thighs as he digs manicured thumbs into Seishirou's windpipe. The man looks surprised, Subaru notes wildly, surprised but not much more because for all that Subaru is intent on throttling the life out of his enemy his slim hands are shaking too much to do so. The more strength Subaru tries to force into his grip the more unsteady it gets, and the only thing Seishirou has to do is take Subaru's wrists in his own larger hands and hold them back just enough to safely breathe. All the while his eyes never leave Subaru's face.
Futile, then, like this.
Gradually Subaru's hands go limp. His head is bowed, defeated; his shoulders are trembling offering no resistance as his hands are carefully detached from Seishirou's neck. They aren't, however, let go of. Instead Seishirou cradles them, warm and firm, and begins massaging out the strain with a gentleness that makes Subaru's groin constrict, something that only worsens when after turning Subaru's hand over to see the four small angry red crescents marking his palm, Seishirou brings it to his mouth to kiss. His lips are soft, speaking a language all on their own, and also insistent leaving Subaru's palm wet and damp. It takes a moment for Subaru to realise that he's hard but when he does he nearly passes out with shock, nearly gives himself carpet burn as he tries to get away on his knees knowing the dress offers no concealment especially straddling Seishirou like that, only his hand is still in Seishirou's and Seishirou is following him across the floor all the way to the drape-covered wall where Subaru tries to hide his mortified and make-up streaked face. Every time Seishirou tries to grasp his chin and turn his face Subaru jerks away until finally, either in exasperation or something else, Seishirou abruptly changes tactics. He reaches under the dress instead.
Subaru inhales sharply. Now he looks at Seishirou, terrified and shocked before instinct kicks in and he tries to grab Seishirou's invading hand to pull it away. Seishirou, however, is having none of that; his face is unreadable, grim, even, and he stops for a moment to catch Subaru's wrists and pin them against the wall above their heads under his left hand. That taken care of his right hand slides once more under the dress taking advantage of the skirt's slit to reach up and in, pushing down Subaru's underwear to grasp his straining cock. Subaru chokes.
Time trips, disconnecting from meaning or reference. Panicked, Subaru tries to twist his body away only to be pinned down as Seishirou slings a leg over his and begins to stroke with a determination that dissolves any further struggle in pleasure and heat … as if drowning Subaru feels in fragments, the dampness of his skin, the strain in his trapped arms, the strength of Seishirou's fingers holding him tight, oh so tight, shattering what remains of his already broken dignity and moving up and down. Soon he's moaning, making sounds like some mortally wounded beast and just as helpless as he tries to push up into Seishirou's hand in a need so acute as to be almost like agony … without warning his hands are freed as Seishirou bends down low over his leg, pushing the skirt of the dress up further in order to expose him and lean over to – Subaru slams his eyes shut unable to watch as Seishirou takes him into his mouth, but the sensation of it, all wet heat and tongue and suction, is overwhelming and he begins to shudder uncontrollably, whimpering even as he jerks to Seishirou's rhythm, the feel of him there between his legs – blindly he reaches down to clasp Seishirou's head twisting fingers in black hair as he comes—
—it's almost like falling apart.
Jagged pieces of himself scatter and melt. Groggily Subaru opens his eyes to near darkness, the flickering of the empty room's tea-candles feeble against the illusion's power. He feels soft and loose; he can feel Seishirou swallowing around his cock.
Seishirou sits up. Wipes his mouth with a handkerchief from a pocket somewhere. He leans against Subaru, hot and heavy, and if Subaru couldn't face him earlier he certainly can't do it now, so embarrassed is he. He doesn't resist as Seishirou takes his hand again, doesn't resist as Seishirou draws it over and down, jerking only when Seishirou pulls him under unfastened black cloth and around taut flesh. Strong fingers close around his wrist guiding him to action – Subaru swallows dryly and begins, his already flushed face burning under Seishirou's harsh breaths as his caresses turn rough and fast.
It doesn't take long. Between one movement and the next Seishirou spasms against him, leaving Subaru's hand slick and wet. Like a great cat Seishirou relaxes, releasing Subaru's hand and stretching up to put his lips to Subaru's ear. "Now," he murmurs, "will you face me."
Subaru glances at him, startled. Seishirou is smiling again, still the darkly amused expression of earlier but now there's almost easy about it. His mismatched eyes, one blind and white the other amber-gold, are almost light. For the first time tonight, Subaru meets them without flinching.
Seishirou's smile widens. Then he pulls away, standing up and putting his clothes back in order with quick, efficient movements. Subaru numbly does the same with his own outfit, or at least begins to. He stops when Seishirou extends a hand down to him, one eyebrow inquiringly lifted. Without thinking Subaru accepts.
Effortlessly, Seishirou pulls him to his feet. Passes him the handkerchief to clean his hands before pulling a little at the dress making it sit properly again and smoothing out the deepest creases. What his face looks like Subaru doesn't know, but Seishirou does and he gently takes hold of Subaru's face in his hands using his thumbs to wipe away the worst of the make-up smears presumably making him presentable. "Th-thank you," Subaru stammers.
"You're welcome." Seishirou lets him go fingers coming away smudged with black. There's an undercurrent of conversation on the air, Subaru belatedly notices, and he turns trying to see where the illusion is fraying. Seishirou catches his chin and makes him stop; he's still smiling that odd little smile. "I prefer you in white," he says quietly, "but one can never fault your sister's style. You really do look beautiful tonight, Subaru-kun."
It's impossible not to tense at the reference to Hokuto, but the rest of what Seishirou says, makes Subaru blush. He does not, however, lower his gaze from Seishirou's, instead standing straight, shoulders back and head up, emerald green to white and gold.
Seishirou's smile widens. Then he disappears.
Subaru blinks, disorientated. He turns left and right looking for his companion – suddenly sound rushes in around him like rain from a storm-front and he realise the room is back to normal, the lounge guests back in their chairs hands lifted in enthusiastic applause. Onstage the singer and band are taking their bows, tired but triumphant. A few people glance at Subaru, startled, perhaps, by his sudden reappearance, and stare at his dishevelled state either in concern or curiosity or both. Subaru flinches at their faces; the air feels cold on his sweat-soaked skin.
The applause goes on. Subaru flees.
vi.
1994年 1月 15 日
火曜日 11:45AM
"Ah, Subaru-kun!" Chizuru greets brightly as the door closes behind him. She's wearing yellow today, a baggy yellow jumper over dark blue jeans, and working on some sewing as she waits for customers. "You look very well this morning – did you have a good time last night?"
Subaru bows, a pair of brown paper bags in his right hand. "Good morning, Fuyutsuki-san, and yes, I did have a good time last night, thank you for asking. I've come to return your things."
"Oh, wonderful, thank you." Chizuru comes forward to accept the pair of bags he holds out to her and looks inside to check; one bag holds the shoes, bra and kanzashi all individually wrapped, the other— "Eh? You still want to return the dress?"
Subaru tries to smile. "It's a beautiful dress, and really, Fuyutsuki-san, you worked wonders with it giving me my sister for one night for which I can't thank you enough but … I can't keep it. It's a woman's dress, I'll have no use for it, and it would be selfish of me to keep it never to be worn again just because it reminds me of her. You're a wonderful designer; the clothes you make should be owned by people who appreciate them and wear them out to be seen. It's been laundered and pressed, of course," he adds hurriedly as Chizuru's eyes narrow, "and I don't need the money back, it's just that really, I can't keep it, I'm not like your son, I only wanted to dress up once for my sister—"
"It's all right, I understand," Chizuru waves his increasingly anxious explanation aside and gives a wry smile. "And I never did see you as my son by the way, I just understood what you were going through and wanted to do something nice. Okay, fine, I'll take the dress back and put it up for sale again, probably at a reduced price since it's already been worn – but I'm not taking your charity. You paid me money buying something from my shop, you shall have something from my shop. I sell some men's clothes as well, so take a look around, pick something out, and we'll consider it an exchange, all right?"
It's impossible to argue with such reasonable logic. Subaru gives an awkward nod, then hesitantly steps over to the rack of men's clothes. It's a small rack, running only half the length of the wall, and in black, grey, white and blue seems almost drab compared to the women's clothes which come from every colour of the rainbow. He begins to push through it, unsure of where to even start, going through shirts and pants and jackets painfully aware of how Chizuru is watching him refusing to make any suggestions—
A flash of white catches his attention, and he lifts it out of the rack on its hanger. A long coat. "What about this?" he asks Chizuru.
"Let me see." With light steps Chizuru comes over and takes the coat, taking it off its hanger and holding it up against Subaru who stands up straight. "Ah, this, I made it last year as a protest against all the dark coats the salary-men were wearing over their black suits. Here, put it on." Subaru complies, taking off his navy parka which he hands to Chizuru and sliding his arms into the coat-sleeves before turning around. Chizuru inspects him closely. "Hm, not bad. A little big, perhaps, but you've still got a bit of growing to do and these kind of coats are made to last for years, so … what do you think, do you like it?" Subaru nods, and Chizuru grins. "Good choice, I wholly approve."
Subaru blinks as she yanks out the price tag. "Don't I need a bag?" he asks.
"I wouldn't bother." Without looking back Chizuru sweeps away to the counter with his old, worn parka. "Dressed as you are in black already you look fine with it on so you might as well wear it out. Besides which, you look so much better in white." She looks up to find Subaru staring at her with wide, emerald eyes. "Well, go on, what are you waiting for, stop hanging around this old woman's shop and go show off your new clothes, all right?"
Her voice is clipped, brooking no argument, like a mother to a child. Subaru hastily bows again. "Th-thank you, Fuyutsuki-san!"
"Hai, hai. Now off with you!"
Subaru obeys. Hurries out the door onto the streets of Tokyo with a new, almost edgy determination in his posture that fits him as newly as the long pale coat flaring around his legs. High above, a shadowy hawk is watching in appreciation. It waits for the day they will meet again.
おわり
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NOTES:
The film referred to in the story is Ju Dou, directed by Zhang Yimou (Raise the Red Lantern, Hero, House of Flying Daggers, Curse of the Golden Flower) and starring Gong Li (Raise the Red Lantern, Farewell My Concubine, Memoirs of a Geisha). Released in Japan in April 1990, Ju Dou is set in a silk dyeing mill and is an early example of Zhang Yimou's lush cinematography and use of colours. It was the first Chinese film nominated for an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.
Seijin no Hi is Coming of Age Day in Japan. A national holiday, it celebrates people who have or who are about to turn 20, and takes place on the second Monday of January each year. Girls dress up in full furisode, boys usually in suits although some will choose to wear hakama or kimono. During the day participants attend ceremonies at their local government office to be welcomed into society as adults. At night many go out to parties, clubbing or drinking.
Fuyutsuki Chizuru = winter moon / thousand paper cranes
The Grand Hyatt Tokyo in Roppongi has several lounges and bars, one of them being the Maduro which serves an extensive list of drinks and specialises in boutique whiskies from its whisky room. It plays live entertainment every night.
A Long Island Green Tea recipe can be found here.
SERIES: post-Tokyo Babylon
CHARACTERS: Subaru, Hokuto, Seishirou, original characters
RATING: R for adult themes, sexual content
SUMMARY: Subaru wears a dress. It's not funny.
NOTES: There are three songs that appear as quoted lyrics throughout the lounge scene (part v). I strongly recommend putting them on in the background when reading that particular scene for atmosphere and mood, and also to vindicate the fact that I listened to them over and over and over again trying to plan the scene around them. The songs are:
(1) 'Take My Breath Away' (Berlin)
(2) 'Sleep' (Conjure One)
(3) 'I Want You' (Madonna and Massive Attack).
Posted in two parts because LJ posts have a word limit and I am incapable of writing short short stories. Parts i-iii are here.
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iv.
1994年 1月 14 日
月曜日5:50PM
The shop is dark when he returns. He didn't want to, but a promise is a promise and Subaru is too honourable to even think about breaking one. Still, however, he hopes that maybe he kept her waiting too long, that she's given up on him and when after no one answers his hesitant knock he can slink home to hide and pretend that the world around him isn't moving on. Of course, it doesn't work.
"I said I'd leave the door open," is the first thing Chizuru says. She's dressed in black tonight, simple and practical, and gives him the ghost of a smile. "Come on in."
She closes and locks the door behind him – no getting out of this now. Apprehensively Subaru follows Chizuru through the darkened shop to the back entrance glowing warmly from a light in the room beyond. The room turns out to be a stockroom, but one with a flight of stairs in it, and Subaru follows Chizuru up these into the small apartment that sits above. Small kitchen, smaller bathroom, a tiny raised space with tatami matting in one corner, and a slightly larger living area that seems to be mostly sewing room. "Would you like anything to drink?" Chizuru asks.
"No, thank you." He stands in the genkan uncomfortable and out of place. What is he doing here?
"Don't mind me then." Chizuru has gotten out a beer for herself and takes a gulp. Lowers the can when she sees that Subaru is still in the genkan. "Oh come in, I'm not going to bite. Sit there."
She points at the raised corner space with tatami matting. At night it would have a futon for sleeping but right now there's only a cushion and a round mirror on a portable stand. Subaru's stomach clenches, but he slides his shoes off anyway. "Ojamashimasu," he murmurs, picking his way carefully across the floor – it's a neat apartment, but there's a lot in it. He passes the burgundy dress on the way, hanging from a hook in the wall on a clothes hanger – it looks no different to before, at least to his eyes – before gingerly kneeling down in seiza on the cushion. There's a photo sitting on a wall shelf to his side; there's a younger Chizuru with a man and little boy smiling out at him from the frame.
Chizuru puts down the rest of her beer and picks up a white cloth and a large silvery metal box. "So did you go to any ceremonies this morning?" she asks as she comes over. Subaru makes a negative sound; he feels almost fatalistic. "In that case, let me be the first to congratulate you for Seijin no Hi." She kneels down in front of him on the tatami with the white cloth over her shoulder. Subaru tries not to flinch as she looks with unsettling directness into his face. "I said I'd show you your sister," she says softly, "and I can see from your face that you already have an idea of what I'm getting at. Are you all right with this?"
His face heats, there are moths in his stomach, but his morbid curiosity outweighs all. "Yes," he whispers. "Yes."
A sad smile crosses Chizuru's face. "Take off your top," she instructs.
It's impossible to try preventing the flush of embarrassment that comes over him, but he moves to do as he's told. Parka first, which Chizuru bundles to one side, then his woollen turtleneck is discarded leaving him clad in faded black jeans and a white long-sleeved t-shirt. Chizuru drapes the cloth about his shoulders before using a plastic headband to push his hair out of his face. Already Subaru feels faintly ridiculous, but he forces himself to keep calm. "Good," says Chizuru, sitting back on her heels, "now close your eyes."
She opens the metal box revealing an intimidating array of paints, powders, brushes, sponges and more, and Subaru feels a not entirely pleasant thread of anticipation curling in his gut. Still, however, he does not resist as Chizuru gently takes hold of his chin, and closes his eyes as she wipes a dampened tissue over his face. "Why are you doing this for me," he asks quietly.
"Because I want to." The tissue stops, disappearing to let Chizuru's fingers rub a light cream into his skin. "Because you're letting me. Because I know what it's like to grow old wondering what someone you've loved and lost would have looked like had they lived.
"I had a son, his name was Shinya. His father and I were so happy when he was born and we thought he could achieve anything. We watched him grow imagining how we would attend his school festivals, his graduations, even his wedding, how proud we would be on each of those days. Open your eyes and look up." Pencil-tip around his eyes; Subaru tries not to flinch. "Shinya was such a handsome boy, I loved making clothes for him and made sure he was the best dressed child each Shichi-Go-San. Which was fine when he was little, but then again, that might have been when the trouble started. Close your eyes." Subaru does so obediently, keeping still as something is brushed over his eyelids. "When Shinya was in school he was in the upper ranks of students in his class. His father thought he could do better, I thought he was doing well enough, but what became more of a worry was the fact that although he had plenty of girl friends he showed no interest in any of them. What's more, he was friends with girls because he could talk like and with them about girlish things: clothes, make-up, fashion, things like that. Boys. My handsome Shinya talked about boys like he was a girl.
"I was disappointed in him, I can admit that. Still, he was still my son and I loved him. His father was the one who took it badly. He would yell and scream every time he found Shinya with new clothes or with make-up, and it got worse every year as Shinya grew older and showed no signs of changing. Once he found lipstick in Shinya's bag and somewhere in the shouting that ensued he backhanded Shinya across the face. He told Shinya the only red a man could honourably have on his face was blood. Don't breathe for a moment." Subaru holds his breath and tries to relax as a soft brush dusts his face. "Shinya ran away that night.
"I blamed his father, and he blamed me of course. Said it was my fault Shinya turned out that way because I treated him like a doll when he was little. I retorted that if that was the case then Shinya's father obviously wasn't enough of a man to make up for me. I was the one hit that day. You can breathe now, by the way.
"Shinya came back a few days later. He had been staying with a girl friend but had to leave because of the trouble he was causing, and although he worked part-time jobs he didn't have the money to live on his own. So he came back. I convinced his father to be civil and tolerant, or at least try to be, and begged Shinya not to provoke him. Open your mouth." Subaru does so, smelling strawberries as something thick and sticky glides over his lips. "The peace, if you could call it that, was intermittent at best. Shinya had grown his hair long and while he no longer wore make-up at home he would put it on outside, and barely a month would go by without some terrible fight. Later I found dresses in Shinya's cupboards. Of course, I didn't tell his father. Keep your eyes closed, I'm going to do your hair now.
"Shinya's Seijin no Hi would have been six years ago. He told us quite bluntly beforehand that he wanted to wear a furisode and he had saved up his own money to buy one, complete with obi and everything. After all this time I was prepared to let him do what he wanted but his father of course was having none of it. Said he'd rather see his son dead than standing up there in front of everyone we knew dressed in women's clothes bringing shame upon us. He probably didn't mean it, but he got what he wanted. The next morning we found Shinya hanging from the ceiling of his room dressed in the furisode. He had done his hair and make-up perfectly.
"His father was left a broken man. He and I divorced some months later, and I think he moved back to his home town. I stayed in Tokyo and opened up this shop in my son's memory. The men's and women's clothes I make and sell downstairs? I make them all with Shinya in mind, and wonder what he would look like wearing them. I'll never know, of course, but seeing other people look good in my clothes, that helps a little. Just a little.
"Your hair is done. You can look in the mirror now."
Slowly, almost frightened, Subaru opens his eyes. He blinks for a moment as his vision refocuses, wondering at how weightless his eyes feel, before finally focusing on the surface in front of him. His breath stops.
Hokuto is staring out of the mirror.
It's a startling transformation. Subaru swallows nervously, unsettled by the way Hokuto does as well, trying to tell himself that this is him, this is his face only covered with powder and paint. Eyes, first, that's what he looks at, noting how they've been thinly lined with black and the upper eyelids smudged light rose. The corner of each eye is dotted with a daub of shimmering palest gold that brings out the emerald green of his irises. The shadows under his eyes are gone, there's even a hint of blush on his pale cheeks. Finally there are his lips, and if ever he feared that they would be coloured as brightly as was Hokuto's preference he can feel relieved, for all Chizuru has done is applied a sheen of gloss with nothing but the barest hint of colour. All of this is set off by ebony black hair that although short, has been brushed and sprayed so that it whimsically frames his face much like it used to do when he was sixteen. The only adornment is a small kanzashi that has been pinned into the hair on the left side of his head, dark red and accented by white pearlescent beads. Hokuto would have loved it.
Still, however, for all that is now Hokuto's face, there's something not quite right. In the mirror, Hokuto is not smiling.
Chizuru leans over his shoulder and looks into the mirror beside him; although the emotion in her face is fragile she manages to smile with a fairy godmother's pride. "You have a lovely face, Subaru-kun, I really didn't have to do much other than bring out your eyes. Your sister must have been a beautiful girl."
Somehow Subaru finds his tongue. "She was," he says hoarsely, only to catch himself as in the mirror Hokuto's lips move with his— "I mean, she is."
Chizuru's smile widens, there are tears in her eyes. They seem to embarrass her, for she ducks her head out of the mirror and quickly wipes them away. When she looks up again, she is back to being her old self. "Well then!" she says with forced levity, "now that hair and make-up is done, shall we see how everything looks with the dress? It belongs to you, after all. I'll go get it, okay?"
Mechanically Subaru nods, happy to let Chizuru do as she feels right and keeping his eyes on Hokuto's face in the mirror. Hokuto still isn't smiling, Subaru notes achingly, and what's more in the frame of the mirror it's almost like she's trapped. Cooped up, or caged, even, like a pretty princess in a fairy tale.
Hokuto hated feeling confined in any context. Unlike Subaru she was a people person, an extrovert who shone best in social situations and who drew her energy from the presence of others. Keeping her cut off from the world in any way is not only unkind, it's heartless.
Hokuto needs to be seen.
v.
1994年 1月 14 日
月曜日8:55PM
The Grand Hyatt Tokyo in Roppongi Hills. Although a Monday night it doesn't matter to tourists or travelling businessmen, and while not busy there are enough guests in the hotel's intimate lounge and bar to keep staff occupied. Lit by candlelight they sit scattered about the room around low tables and in shadowed alcoves, flickering silhouettes against the wood panelling and dark gold drapes. There's a live band on a stage – keyboard, percussion, bass, a couple of strings with a female singer in slinky black – playing chilled relaxing music that softens faces and brings down guards. As the singer sings whispers of conversation float by in the low light interrupted now and then by laughter; there are relationships being deepened over wine and drinks.
Hokuto sits at the bar alone.
Through the hourglass I saw you
In time you slipped away
To any voyeur – and there are several in this lounge – Hokuto is an attractive picture. Slim to almost the point of androgyny she wears a fitting, high-necked, burgundy dress trimmed with black that contrasts with the fairness of her bare arms and skin. Low black peep-toe heels set off slender legs exposed to the thigh by the dress's slit. She has short ebony hair decorated with a silken dark red flower and strikingly vivid emerald eyes. These eyes avoid any contact and are kept shyly or nervously lowered on a half-empty glass of lemonade; their owner seems somewhat detached, even, perhaps, a little unreal.
One voyeur, tall and blond and intrigued, decides to approach.
"Good evening." Startled, Hokuto glances up. The blond stranger smiles and leans against the bar. "Looking a little down and lost there – you waiting for someone?"
It takes a few seconds for Hokuto to reply. "…No," she says slowly, voice soft and low, "I'm not waiting for anyone."
"You mean you're here by yourself? Wow." The stranger shakes his head, still smiling. "Have to say that takes some courage, going out to a bar like this alone, I mean. Especially for a girl. Usually the only people you see by themselves at places like this are guys like me on business trips. I'm John, by the way, and you are?"
He extends a hand, large and open, one eyebrow inquiringly lifted. Hokuto stares confusedly for a moment before hesitantly reaching out to shake it with the tips of her fingers. "Hokuto," she says, lowering her head as she pulls back; her fingernails, one would notice, although not particularly long are manicured and painted with a clear polish.
John acknowledges the customary bow with an exaggerated one of his own. "Nice to meet you, Hokuto-chan – I can say that, right?" Hokuto doesn't respond either way and John takes this as tacit approval, though he does give a rueful chuckle. "I've been learning Japanese for nearly eight years and yet I still sometimes slip up on the honorific language stuff, what's appropriate for who and when, but since the company keeps sending me over here for work I must be doing something right. Mostly." He flashes Hokuto a grin. "I tend to trip up around pretty girls."
The compliment makes Hokuto's fair cheeks flush pale pink. John's grin widens; he can't be any older than twenty-eight, and he has an easy confidence that sits well on his square-jawed face. "Can I buy you a drink?"
Too polite to say no Hokuto nods slightly and nervously attempts at a smile. John beams and victoriously waves the barman over. "A Long Island Green Tea for the girl and a Johnnie Walker on the rocks for me, please," he says, "and you can put it on my room tab. You have to try this drink, Hokuto-chan, it's named after my home part of the States but this version uses sake steeped in green tea so a bit of an eastern twist on the traditional mix. You ever been to the United States, Hokuto-chan?"
Hokuto hasn't been anywhere, but at one stage she dreamed of doing so. She can't dream any more, obviously. "No, I haven't."
"You should definitely try to get yourself over there sometime, and if you do and find yourself in New York you can be sure I will show you all the best places to go. Ah, here we are." A low square glass with ice and golden liquid appears on the bar in front of them, followed a few moments later by a highball glass filled with something pale yellow and decorated with a brandied cherry. John pushes the drink towards Hokuto who takes it with no small amount of trepidation. "Okay, then. Kanpai!"
John clinks his glass against Hokuto's and then the two of them drink, or at least John does. Hokuto lets only a cautious mouthful pass her lips. Onstage, the singer has begun another song.
I know, it's late, I shouldn't call at this hour
But it's, my fate, I need lips to devour
"How do you like it?"
The drink is refreshingly sour with a hint of sweetness. Pleasant. "It's – good," Hokuto replies, surprising herself perhaps with the sentiment. "I'm … enjoying it." For the first time she lifts her eyes to meet John's. "Thank you."
"You're very welcome. And no, don't even think about paying me back, it was my pleasure. After all, how else is a guy like me supposed to keep a conversation going with a pretty girl?"
Hokuto blushes. "Ah, by talking?" she ventures hesitantly.
The laugh that bursts from John's mouth is bright and startled. "Talking? Oh, Hokuto-chan," he manages to say, and then he is laughing again, warm and full and genuinely amused. Infectious, actually, and strange as it feels Hokuto can't help but shyly smile a little. She self-consciously hides it behind another sip of her drink, though.
I know, it's late, we've known each other a while
I, can't wait, to see your twisted smile
"So, Hokuto-chan," John continues when (with the whiskey's assistance) he's finally gotten hold of himself, "tell me, what are you, a university student? Model? No, wait, let me guess, a professional breaker of hearts—"
"She's a ghost."
Freeze, shatter. In a split second 'Hokuto' is gone leaving only Subaru, Subaru, white and vulnerable wearing a woman's dress and holding a stranger's drink in his left hand. He knows that voice, knows the speaker who is standing behind him, and knows also that what was supposed to be a little adventure has now become a nightmare. "Of course, ghosts are still capable of breaking hearts," continues Seishirou, coming out around from behind Subaru's back with a smile, "but here in Japan the ghosts that do that are usually ones that need to be exorcised or destroyed, isn't that right," Seishirou stops to stand unsubtly between Subaru and John at Subaru's shoulder. "…Hokuto-chan."
He shouldn't look at him, really he shouldn't, but Subaru can't help himself, and his gut tightens immediately. Seishirou looks breathtaking in black, black hair, black suit, black tie, all of it in stark contrast to his white shirt and silver cufflinks. He's taller than John, or at least the same height, and for all that he has one white eye and one amber-gold the mismatch does nothing to lessen the intensity of his gaze, particularly since it is no longer hidden by glasses. Immediately Subaru ducks his head, clenching his free hand on his lap so hard manicured fingernails cut painfully into his palms. "Why are you here," he whispers.
"I'm on a work trip," Seishirou says simply. "A late evening appointment with the lady there—" here he points across the lounge at a woman in a fitted blue office-dress talking to a group of men in suits, "—that I will have to eventually attend to."
John is not blind; he can tell there is something going on and it is painfully obvious that 'Hokuto' is deeply unsettled by the man's arrival. "That so? Then why don't you go attend to her?" he asks Seishirou coolly.
"Oh, I can delay it, she won't care. Besides, Hokuto-chan's company is so much more engaging, and she doesn't mind me being here." Significantly Seishirou glances down at what 'Hokuto' is wearing. "You have a beautiful dress, by the way."
Subaru wants to die.
Drown out the machinery in my head
Bring your peace of mind, to my bed
Seishirou's smile darkens as he turns to John. "Hokuto-chan always did have an eye for clothes," he explains, voice mercilessly conversational. "She intended to study fashion design after high school but in the meantime she would make up outfits at home and use her brother as a model. He was a very good model, pretty as a doll and just as obedient, wouldn't you agree, Hokuto-chan?"
He's having trouble breathing in the dress; he feels faint. John to his credit is not easily moved and is regarding Seishirou with wary eyes. "Look, Mister, I don't know who you are and quite frankly don't care to know, but I think Hokuto-chan actually does mind you being here so why don't you leave us alone and mind your own business, okay?"
"Ah, but you see, this person here is my business." As if to emphasise his point Seishirou puts a hand on Subaru's shoulder, seemingly casually but Subaru feels the weight of it like iron. "Besides which, I need to offer my congratulations." He reaches down with his other hand to take Subaru's clenched right fist. Lifts it up before his lips to kiss the back of it paying absolutely no attention to their startled one-man audience; it makes Subaru shiver, and not just from the way the star-marks burn. "Seijin no hi omedetou, my dear," Seishirou murmurs.
Any other time, any other situation, Subaru would be fighting back. This, however, is the here and now and for all the rage that Subaru feels (along with hate and love, always hate and love together) it is nothing compared to the utter humiliation of being caught in a woman's dress and make-up. Worse still is the way Seishirou is so perfectly and cruelly playing along. "You bastard," he whispers helplessly.
"Such language, Hokuto-chan," Seishirou chides. "What would your grandmother say if she heard you? For that matter, does she even know you're here?"
"Okay, that’s it." John puts down his drink on the bar with a loud clack. "You, ex-boyfriend or whatever, time for you to go, either by yourself or escorted by security."
Challengingly John takes a step towards Seishirou; Subaru's eyes widen in horror. "Don't—"
"I advise very strongly against you trying anything," says Seishirou quietly. His hand is still holding Subaru's. "In the first place I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere, and in the second—"
"Actually, you know what, fuck security; I'll escort you out myself for the sheer pleasure of teaching abusive bastards like you that—"
"In the second place," Seishirou repeats, still quietly, "it is a warning for your own good."
The words stop John in his tracks. He stares at Seishirou with narrowed eyes. "Are you threatening me?" he asks in disbelief.
"I am, yes."
A touch of uncertainty creeps into John's face, more, perhaps, from the calmness of Seishirou's reply than the actual substance. Still, however, he seems unwilling to back down and darts a look at 'Hokuto' who rigidly avoids his eyes while making no attempt to break out of Seishirou's grip. Onstage, the singer is dragging out the ending note of her song while the band segues into the chords to another. Seishirou's smile lights up with an idea. "Come," he says, pulling gently on Subaru's hand, "let me take you for a dance."
Even knowing Seishirou as he does Subaru is still taken aback at the request. "W-what?"
"A dance. Right here and now."
John sneers. "Are you stupid? This is a lounge, not a club, and what's more not only is there no dance floor this isn't a dancing song."
Seishirou ignores him and keeps his eyes on Subaru who keeps his eyes on the floor. "One dance, Hokuto-chan, and then I promise I'll let you go tonight." Suddenly he lowers his head to whisper in Subaru's ear. "Dance with me, or your would-be knight in paper armour doesn't live to see tomorrow."
It's all Subaru can do not to punch Seishirou in the face.
I want you the right way
I want you, but I want you to want me too
Seishirou waits out Subaru's silent outrage with a hunter's patience. Subaru's lips thin. Then, like a prisoner to an execution, he puts his drink on the bar and allows Seishirou to pull him off the barstool over to the small patch of clear floor in the corner beside the stage. They attract little attention other than a surprised smile from the singer, and soon enough Subaru is standing stiffly, head bowed refusing to meet Seishirou's eyes, with one hand flat against Seishirou's shoulder and left hand in Seishirou's right. Seishirou's own left arm is wrapped around Subaru's waist. With the heels Subaru comes up to just above Seishirou's chin; for a moment he can see John watching them from the bar but then the singer's voice is growing low and husky and Seishirou is leading him in a turn. Slowly they begin to move together, small steps only side to side, nothing complicated, Subaru can't dance to save his life wearing his own clothes let alone in a dress and Seishirou knows it. But he still makes him try.
I'll give you all the love I want in return
But half a love is all I feel, sweet darling
"You surprise me, Subaru-kun," Seishirou murmurs after a while, body warm and solid against Subaru's. "Even with Hokuto-chan's influence I never would have imagined you to do anything like this – did you get dressed by yourself? Even with a padded bra?"
Subaru's hand tangles into the cloth of Seishirou's jacket, the only evidence of the scream he's clamping down on; constantly put off balance as he is there's little else he can do especially in public. "That's none of your business," he bites out.
"Well, whoever helped you, they did a masterful job. You look absolutely beautiful." Without warning Seishirou spins them, too quickly for Subaru to make a misstep. "Also like Hokuto-chan, which, I presume, is the whole point. But you know, Subaru-kun, if you're going to put so much effort into being your sister for one night, you could have done better."
The words shouldn't hurt but they do. After all, Seishirou is the only other person here who has any memory of Hokuto. "What do you mean," Subaru asks, stung and breathless. He keeps his eyes lowered; his heart is racing.
"Your sister was an independent, confident girl who would look people directly in the eye and never flinch. She had pride and self-respect right up to the end, and would have become a strong woman had I not killed her. You, on the other hand, are simply pathetic. Getting picked up in a bar by a sweet-talking foreigner? Hokuto-chan would at least have made him work for the privilege of buying her a drink. No, Subaru-kun, for all that you look like a grown-up Hokuto-chan your Hokuto-chan is exactly the kind of passive and weak woman your sister looked down on and would have hated to be. In other words, it's just you in a pretty dress." Unpleasantly Seishirou's lips curl into a smirk. "Maybe you should wear dresses more often; you certainly suit them well."
Don't play with something you should cherish for life
Oh baby, don't you wanna care?
Aint it lonely out there?
Violently Subaru shoves Seishirou away – it's too much, he can't take this anymore – awkwardly stumbling backwards in his heels. For a moment he stands humiliated, half bent over and shaking, until a horrible realisation strikes: although he can still hear the music there is no one looking over at their struggle, not the singer on the stage, not John, not a single curious guest, no one. It's as if the two of them are invisible, and even as Subaru stares around at the dimly lit room each oblivious figure begins to disappear, fading like smoke until finally Subaru is staring at a room of empty chairs and abandoned drinks.
The two of them are alone.
Eyes wild, Subaru whips around to Seishirou. The man simply looks at him not needing to say a word to underline how his power has pulled them out of the real world into one of their own. Only the music, dark and disembodied, is allowed to penetrate the illusion. Seishirou always had a flair for the dramatic.
I want you the right way
I want you, but I want you to want me too
There are empty and half-drunk glasses on the nearest tables. Desperately Subaru grabs one and flings it at Seishirou, breath sobbing in his throat, then grabs a second and throws that without even bothering to see if the first one hit. A third and fourth follow in quick succession untargeted and driven increasingly by grief because Subaru knows, he knows he can't ever have or bring Hokuto back that wasn't the point of dressing like this, he just wanted to do something in her memory … another glass and another, he's lost track of how many not that it matters because he can't see, he's shaking with tears – blindly he reaches out again only to be stopped short as a hand grabs his wrist. Immediately he brings up his other hand for a punch but that too, is caught and held, and then Subaru is sinking to his knees crying uncontrollably barely aware of how Seishirou kneels as well to hold him— "Shh, Subaru-kun, that's enough, that's enough now—"
—he lunges up to wrap his hands around Seishirou's throat.
The back of Seishirou's head slams against the floor. All at once Subaru is straddling him, burgundy skirt riding up about his thighs as he digs manicured thumbs into Seishirou's windpipe. The man looks surprised, Subaru notes wildly, surprised but not much more because for all that Subaru is intent on throttling the life out of his enemy his slim hands are shaking too much to do so. The more strength Subaru tries to force into his grip the more unsteady it gets, and the only thing Seishirou has to do is take Subaru's wrists in his own larger hands and hold them back just enough to safely breathe. All the while his eyes never leave Subaru's face.
Futile, then, like this.
Gradually Subaru's hands go limp. His head is bowed, defeated; his shoulders are trembling offering no resistance as his hands are carefully detached from Seishirou's neck. They aren't, however, let go of. Instead Seishirou cradles them, warm and firm, and begins massaging out the strain with a gentleness that makes Subaru's groin constrict, something that only worsens when after turning Subaru's hand over to see the four small angry red crescents marking his palm, Seishirou brings it to his mouth to kiss. His lips are soft, speaking a language all on their own, and also insistent leaving Subaru's palm wet and damp. It takes a moment for Subaru to realise that he's hard but when he does he nearly passes out with shock, nearly gives himself carpet burn as he tries to get away on his knees knowing the dress offers no concealment especially straddling Seishirou like that, only his hand is still in Seishirou's and Seishirou is following him across the floor all the way to the drape-covered wall where Subaru tries to hide his mortified and make-up streaked face. Every time Seishirou tries to grasp his chin and turn his face Subaru jerks away until finally, either in exasperation or something else, Seishirou abruptly changes tactics. He reaches under the dress instead.
Subaru inhales sharply. Now he looks at Seishirou, terrified and shocked before instinct kicks in and he tries to grab Seishirou's invading hand to pull it away. Seishirou, however, is having none of that; his face is unreadable, grim, even, and he stops for a moment to catch Subaru's wrists and pin them against the wall above their heads under his left hand. That taken care of his right hand slides once more under the dress taking advantage of the skirt's slit to reach up and in, pushing down Subaru's underwear to grasp his straining cock. Subaru chokes.
Time trips, disconnecting from meaning or reference. Panicked, Subaru tries to twist his body away only to be pinned down as Seishirou slings a leg over his and begins to stroke with a determination that dissolves any further struggle in pleasure and heat … as if drowning Subaru feels in fragments, the dampness of his skin, the strain in his trapped arms, the strength of Seishirou's fingers holding him tight, oh so tight, shattering what remains of his already broken dignity and moving up and down. Soon he's moaning, making sounds like some mortally wounded beast and just as helpless as he tries to push up into Seishirou's hand in a need so acute as to be almost like agony … without warning his hands are freed as Seishirou bends down low over his leg, pushing the skirt of the dress up further in order to expose him and lean over to – Subaru slams his eyes shut unable to watch as Seishirou takes him into his mouth, but the sensation of it, all wet heat and tongue and suction, is overwhelming and he begins to shudder uncontrollably, whimpering even as he jerks to Seishirou's rhythm, the feel of him there between his legs – blindly he reaches down to clasp Seishirou's head twisting fingers in black hair as he comes—
—it's almost like falling apart.
Jagged pieces of himself scatter and melt. Groggily Subaru opens his eyes to near darkness, the flickering of the empty room's tea-candles feeble against the illusion's power. He feels soft and loose; he can feel Seishirou swallowing around his cock.
Seishirou sits up. Wipes his mouth with a handkerchief from a pocket somewhere. He leans against Subaru, hot and heavy, and if Subaru couldn't face him earlier he certainly can't do it now, so embarrassed is he. He doesn't resist as Seishirou takes his hand again, doesn't resist as Seishirou draws it over and down, jerking only when Seishirou pulls him under unfastened black cloth and around taut flesh. Strong fingers close around his wrist guiding him to action – Subaru swallows dryly and begins, his already flushed face burning under Seishirou's harsh breaths as his caresses turn rough and fast.
It doesn't take long. Between one movement and the next Seishirou spasms against him, leaving Subaru's hand slick and wet. Like a great cat Seishirou relaxes, releasing Subaru's hand and stretching up to put his lips to Subaru's ear. "Now," he murmurs, "will you face me."
Subaru glances at him, startled. Seishirou is smiling again, still the darkly amused expression of earlier but now there's almost easy about it. His mismatched eyes, one blind and white the other amber-gold, are almost light. For the first time tonight, Subaru meets them without flinching.
Seishirou's smile widens. Then he pulls away, standing up and putting his clothes back in order with quick, efficient movements. Subaru numbly does the same with his own outfit, or at least begins to. He stops when Seishirou extends a hand down to him, one eyebrow inquiringly lifted. Without thinking Subaru accepts.
Effortlessly, Seishirou pulls him to his feet. Passes him the handkerchief to clean his hands before pulling a little at the dress making it sit properly again and smoothing out the deepest creases. What his face looks like Subaru doesn't know, but Seishirou does and he gently takes hold of Subaru's face in his hands using his thumbs to wipe away the worst of the make-up smears presumably making him presentable. "Th-thank you," Subaru stammers.
"You're welcome." Seishirou lets him go fingers coming away smudged with black. There's an undercurrent of conversation on the air, Subaru belatedly notices, and he turns trying to see where the illusion is fraying. Seishirou catches his chin and makes him stop; he's still smiling that odd little smile. "I prefer you in white," he says quietly, "but one can never fault your sister's style. You really do look beautiful tonight, Subaru-kun."
It's impossible not to tense at the reference to Hokuto, but the rest of what Seishirou says, makes Subaru blush. He does not, however, lower his gaze from Seishirou's, instead standing straight, shoulders back and head up, emerald green to white and gold.
Seishirou's smile widens. Then he disappears.
Subaru blinks, disorientated. He turns left and right looking for his companion – suddenly sound rushes in around him like rain from a storm-front and he realise the room is back to normal, the lounge guests back in their chairs hands lifted in enthusiastic applause. Onstage the singer and band are taking their bows, tired but triumphant. A few people glance at Subaru, startled, perhaps, by his sudden reappearance, and stare at his dishevelled state either in concern or curiosity or both. Subaru flinches at their faces; the air feels cold on his sweat-soaked skin.
The applause goes on. Subaru flees.
vi.
1994年 1月 15 日
火曜日 11:45AM
"Ah, Subaru-kun!" Chizuru greets brightly as the door closes behind him. She's wearing yellow today, a baggy yellow jumper over dark blue jeans, and working on some sewing as she waits for customers. "You look very well this morning – did you have a good time last night?"
Subaru bows, a pair of brown paper bags in his right hand. "Good morning, Fuyutsuki-san, and yes, I did have a good time last night, thank you for asking. I've come to return your things."
"Oh, wonderful, thank you." Chizuru comes forward to accept the pair of bags he holds out to her and looks inside to check; one bag holds the shoes, bra and kanzashi all individually wrapped, the other— "Eh? You still want to return the dress?"
Subaru tries to smile. "It's a beautiful dress, and really, Fuyutsuki-san, you worked wonders with it giving me my sister for one night for which I can't thank you enough but … I can't keep it. It's a woman's dress, I'll have no use for it, and it would be selfish of me to keep it never to be worn again just because it reminds me of her. You're a wonderful designer; the clothes you make should be owned by people who appreciate them and wear them out to be seen. It's been laundered and pressed, of course," he adds hurriedly as Chizuru's eyes narrow, "and I don't need the money back, it's just that really, I can't keep it, I'm not like your son, I only wanted to dress up once for my sister—"
"It's all right, I understand," Chizuru waves his increasingly anxious explanation aside and gives a wry smile. "And I never did see you as my son by the way, I just understood what you were going through and wanted to do something nice. Okay, fine, I'll take the dress back and put it up for sale again, probably at a reduced price since it's already been worn – but I'm not taking your charity. You paid me money buying something from my shop, you shall have something from my shop. I sell some men's clothes as well, so take a look around, pick something out, and we'll consider it an exchange, all right?"
It's impossible to argue with such reasonable logic. Subaru gives an awkward nod, then hesitantly steps over to the rack of men's clothes. It's a small rack, running only half the length of the wall, and in black, grey, white and blue seems almost drab compared to the women's clothes which come from every colour of the rainbow. He begins to push through it, unsure of where to even start, going through shirts and pants and jackets painfully aware of how Chizuru is watching him refusing to make any suggestions—
A flash of white catches his attention, and he lifts it out of the rack on its hanger. A long coat. "What about this?" he asks Chizuru.
"Let me see." With light steps Chizuru comes over and takes the coat, taking it off its hanger and holding it up against Subaru who stands up straight. "Ah, this, I made it last year as a protest against all the dark coats the salary-men were wearing over their black suits. Here, put it on." Subaru complies, taking off his navy parka which he hands to Chizuru and sliding his arms into the coat-sleeves before turning around. Chizuru inspects him closely. "Hm, not bad. A little big, perhaps, but you've still got a bit of growing to do and these kind of coats are made to last for years, so … what do you think, do you like it?" Subaru nods, and Chizuru grins. "Good choice, I wholly approve."
Subaru blinks as she yanks out the price tag. "Don't I need a bag?" he asks.
"I wouldn't bother." Without looking back Chizuru sweeps away to the counter with his old, worn parka. "Dressed as you are in black already you look fine with it on so you might as well wear it out. Besides which, you look so much better in white." She looks up to find Subaru staring at her with wide, emerald eyes. "Well, go on, what are you waiting for, stop hanging around this old woman's shop and go show off your new clothes, all right?"
Her voice is clipped, brooking no argument, like a mother to a child. Subaru hastily bows again. "Th-thank you, Fuyutsuki-san!"
"Hai, hai. Now off with you!"
Subaru obeys. Hurries out the door onto the streets of Tokyo with a new, almost edgy determination in his posture that fits him as newly as the long pale coat flaring around his legs. High above, a shadowy hawk is watching in appreciation. It waits for the day they will meet again.
おわり
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NOTES:
The film referred to in the story is Ju Dou, directed by Zhang Yimou (Raise the Red Lantern, Hero, House of Flying Daggers, Curse of the Golden Flower) and starring Gong Li (Raise the Red Lantern, Farewell My Concubine, Memoirs of a Geisha). Released in Japan in April 1990, Ju Dou is set in a silk dyeing mill and is an early example of Zhang Yimou's lush cinematography and use of colours. It was the first Chinese film nominated for an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.
Seijin no Hi is Coming of Age Day in Japan. A national holiday, it celebrates people who have or who are about to turn 20, and takes place on the second Monday of January each year. Girls dress up in full furisode, boys usually in suits although some will choose to wear hakama or kimono. During the day participants attend ceremonies at their local government office to be welcomed into society as adults. At night many go out to parties, clubbing or drinking.
Fuyutsuki Chizuru = winter moon / thousand paper cranes
The Grand Hyatt Tokyo in Roppongi has several lounges and bars, one of them being the Maduro which serves an extensive list of drinks and specialises in boutique whiskies from its whisky room. It plays live entertainment every night.
A Long Island Green Tea recipe can be found here.